All Shall Return to Light
by RobertaWickham
Summary: When Combeferre, rogue scion of a line of French Watchers, learns that a Slayer has been called in the South of France, he decides to set out and find her himself.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** The Château de Beaufort, referenced in the story, is an actual place in southern France. As far as I can tell it fell into ruin after the French Revolution, and wasn't used for anything in the 1820s, but if you know I'm wrong, please let me know!

* * *

"A new Slayer has been called."

Combeferre's uncle spoke in a low voice but though Combeferre, sitting in his armchair, pretended absorption in his volume of Fourier, he heard each word clearly. More than that—it seemed to Combeferre that he_ saw_ each word as if it had been chiseled into shining granite.

Combeferre did not hear his father's response, but his uncle kept talking as if in reply, "Not too far from here, by the look of things. Several families were slaughtered last week in Aiguilhe. It was obviously the work of vampires. The corpses were dragged from their homes, arranged round the Saint Michel chapel to frighten visitors—though the vampires did not dare actually enter it."

Combeferre clutched his Fourier in a white-knuckled grip, staring at the pages but seeing nothing at all. "How do you know the Slayer is there?" Combeferre's father asked.

"Was, not is. We think she left—fled to shelter with family elsewhere, perhaps, or to a convent. She may be a Slayer, but she is still a woman. A sudden, unexpected confrontation with pure unvarnished evil can be too much for the frailty of the sex," his uncle Henri said with a shrug. "But we know she was there for two reasons. First, we have witness accounts, though these are very jumbled. They say that a vampire gang of more than twenty first attacked their homes—but, by the time the vampires left, there were only four of them remaining. The vampires attacked at night and by surprise. It is unlikely in the extreme that ordinary humans with no knowledge of the occult could so deplete their ranks under such conditions."

"And the other reason?" Combeferre asked, abandoning the pretense of inattention, and looking up at his uncle, who was standing with his back to the fire.

His uncle looked at him with a smile. "Ah, Sébastien," he said, "I had wondered if you were listening. I should have known, you always are. The other reason is that our seeress has told us. There is a living Slayer in the South of France. The only question is, where exactly is she? And, more to the point, who is she?" Uncle Henri shook his head sadly. "We do not even know who the last Slayer was," he said, "or where she lived. Nor do my acquaintances with the Watchers in England know, though they have been even more close-mouthed than usual with us since Bonaparte. But we do know that whatever power it is that chooses the Slayer, it pays no attention to the girl's virtue or fitness for such a holy purpose. After all, some Slayers have been kitchen-maids, or prostitutes, or even murderesses. Some have been heathens and savages. Finding the Slayer is only the first step. Making her know her duty will be the more difficult part." He took a sip of brandy. "At least this time, she's a Frenchwoman."

"Have you been searching for her, then?" Combeferre asked, making his voice as light as possible.

"Yes," Uncle Henri said, frowning slightly, "and so far we have found very little, but...we are still making inquiries, mostly in the area surrounding Aiguilhe, but we will fan out from there." He shook his head. "I do feel sure we will find her. Such a woman cannot hope to stay hidden for long, and we have our best men investigating the matter." Uncle Henri took another sip of brandy. "Ah, well, let us speak of lighter matters—when do you return to Paris, my boy?"

"In four days' time," Combeferre said.

His father looked over and frowned. "I thought you were staying on another week?"

"The letter I received from my surgery lecturer this morning," Combeferre said, improvising wildly, "was an invitation to observe while he performs a new experimental surgical technique, and he is doing it three weeks from now. So I thought I would leave in four days."

"Ah," Combeferre's father brightened. "That sounds like quite an honor."

"Indeed," Uncle Henri said, "you are obviously excelling in your studies!" He clapped Combeferre on the shoulder. "Well, all the best, my boy."

Combeferre felt guilty about lying to them, but he knew there was no other choice. He could not allow the Slayer to fall into the custody of the French Watchers—not when they had such reactionary views about society, which translated directly into inhumane and unjust notions about the role of the Slayer herself.

Combeferre had been fifteen years old when he had learned of his family's secret, guarded for generations: they were one of the French families who were Watchers, sworn to a sacred trust to guide and instruct vampire slayers in their battle against the forces of evil.

He had been sixteen when he had learned that his views on the best way to uphold that trust differed strongly from those of his uncle, the senior Watcher of their line, and seventeen when he had learned to hold his peace on the subject rather than argue. Argument, in this particular case, was worse than futile—it notified the archconservative Watchers of a potential rogue in their midst. It had been a bitter moment for the young Sébastien Combeferre when he had decided to stop attempting to change the older Watchers' minds by rational persuasion, and start taking secretive action against those who did not wish to even consider what he was saying, but he thought perhaps it was an inevitable one.

It meant that, now that the Slayer had been called so close to home, Combeferre would have to find her himself.

But first he would need to extract more information from his uncle, which would require some delicacy. Combeferre could not very well go searching the entire South of France on his own, asking every person he encountered if they had just so happened to see a young girl fighting vampires. No, he must find out where the Watchers had already searched. They were not utter fools, misguided as they were.

The next morning, he casually asked his uncle, who was staying with Combeferre's parents for a visit, once more about the search for the Slayer.

"She must have come from one of the families killed at Aiguilhe," Uncle Henri said. "The vampires went there specifically to hunt her. There is no Slayer there, and our seeress tells us she was not among the dead. The Aiguilhe witnesses tell us that none of their neighbors is missing, save the dead families, so she must come from them."

"Well, then, that should make things easy for you," Combeferre said, hiding his dismay. "Surely you have found out which families had daughters of the appropriate age to be called as a Slayer."

"Yes," Uncle Henri said. "Several of them did...but they were all families of some property and prosperity. It ought not to be difficult to track the travels of a solitary young girl brought up in such a fashion, yet we still have not found her."

"Perhaps she was taken prisoner by the vampires?" That was a hideous thought, but it was no good flinching from it.

Uncle Henri shook his head. "No," he said, "The witnesses are very clear on that point. Four vampires left Aiguilhe, heading south, talking loudly about how they would wreak havoc in the future, with no prisoner in tow. The girl must have fled in terror after seeing her family slaughtered, but we do not know to where. We know where the slaughtered families' nearest relations are, though, and our investigators are traveling to question them."

"And...is someone searching for the four remaining vampires?" Surely someone was, surely even the Watchers would not sit back and allow vampires to commit mayhem while they focused solely on the Slayer—

"No," Uncle Henri said with a frown, "the search for the Slayer must come first, and all of our men are devoted to that task." Combeferre wondered if the Slayer herself would agree with that, after seeing the destruction wrought by the vampires—and then an idea struck him.

He mulled it over as he made his excuses to his uncle and left for his room. It was a somewhat unorthodox idea, but he was accustomed to entertaining such by now.

Uncle Henri and his fellow Watchers were acting upon the assumption that the Slayer was a scared and confused young girl, that her instinct in the face of grief and sheer terror—terror she had no way of comprehending, terror she could have known nothing about without a Watcher to explain her destiny to her—was to run.

But what if they were wrong?

What if the Slayer left Aiguilhe, not in flight, but in _pursuit_? What if her first response to slaughter and destruction was not to protect herself, but to save others by bringing the fiends who killed her family and neighbors to justice?

Of course, she would know nothing about _how_ to do this. Staking a vampire to the heart with a piece of wood was not something a young girl with no knowledge of the occult, even if equipped with Slayer instincts, would be likely to do by accident. Nor would she necessarily be able to experiment with sunlight upon the vampires, not if they stayed in during the day. And decapitation would not be her first instinct by any means. These were all things she would need to be _taught_. Combeferre grinned suddenly. If he were correct, then he would enjoy teaching such a student. Pursuing the vampires would require immense bravery and persistence and probably cleverness as well, if that were what the girl had in fact done.

In that case, the correct method of finding the girl would be to hunt the vampires.

Combeferre frowned. He did not like this plan very much. It offended his scientific mind, requiring the commitment of precious time without sufficient evidence. If he were wrong about the girl's course of action, then in hunting the vampires he would lose time—time that the Watchers could use to find the Slayer before Combeferre could.

On the other hand, he had no other promising avenues to explore, and there was always an element of risk in any investigation.

But how had the girl escaped notice? Uncle Henri had said the Watchers had begun their questioning in the town where the original massacre took place. They would have spiraled outwards after that, and would certainly have heard _something_ about a bourgeois young girl traveling alone. That would have been an unusual circumstance.

_Unless she wore men's garb._ In the dustiest volumes and most cracked parchments of the libraries of his father and Uncle Henri, the volumes that his father and uncle generally ignored, Combeferre had read of Slayers in the past who had disguised themselves as men in order to better fulfill their duty, free of the restrictions their societies placed upon their sex. Even some women who were not Slayers had done that precise thing.

It would be a sensible solution to the girl's problem, if she could simply pass herself off as a young man. The Watchers had not inquired about young men in the Haute-Loire region, only girls.

It all fit together beautifully, so beautifully that Combeferre was almost inclined to distrust it—but, he reminded himself, he had no other theory.

He forced himself to think of alternate theories for about two hours, for the sake of intellectual rigor. He came up with several weaker theories, including the Slayer finding a male companion to travel with to be less conspicuous, and the Aiguilhe witnesses lying to the Watchers and hiding the Slayer from them, but no theory seemed more consistent with the available evidence than this one: that the Slayer, possibly disguised as a man, had left Aiguilhe in pursuit of the vampires who had murdered her family and neighbors and were planning to murder others.

This was the theory, then. He would go to Aiguilhe, which was south of Combeferre's family home, and travel further south from there, seeking out the Slayer. And he would do all of this without his family's knowledge.

It was a good thing Combeferre had always been frugal with his allowance and had saved much of it over the years.

A week and half later, in the small hours of the morning, Combeferre found himself at an inn in Goudet, deep in conversation with the innkeeper's wife.

She was an older peasant woman, perhaps prone to believing old wives' tales—but old wives' tales, Combeferre knew, were often how knowledge of the occult was passed on and preserved. They should not be dismissed. After studying the old Watcher journals he could get hold of, Combeferre had concluded that Watchers often came to grief by disregarding knowledge because of an unjustified contempt for its source.

"Have you had any problems, Madame, with...odd visitors, at night?" Combeferre finally asked, after the woman had had a few glasses of wine. "Visitors who seem unlike ordinary humans? With disfigured faces, perhaps?"

She turned to look at him, somewhat blearily. "Odd visitors," she said slowly. "Well..." She gave Combeferre a long, appraising look before answering. "If you mean what I think you mean," she said, "then you'll not take me for a mad old woman when I say yes, we have. We did, a few nights ago, but..."

"Yes?" Combeferre said, trying to soften the edge of eagerness in his voice. "What happened a few nights ago?"

"We were lucky," the woman said shortly. "These visitors you mention, they showed up, but then..."

"Madame," Combeferre said, feeling a spike of hope so sharp that it was painful, "did a young person, whether male or female, come here that night, and protect you from the odd visitors?"

The woman gave him another long look. "Yes," she finally said. "A lad, pretty as a picture. He saved me and my husband and three of our guests, make no mistake about that, and probably more besides, since who knows what those murdering creatures would have gone on to do. Though, mind you, he burned down our stable as he was doing it, and we had just rebuilt it." She sighed. "But it would be foolish to complain about a stable, in light of more important things."

The Slayer had discovered the efficacy of fire in fighting vampires, then. Well and good, though she would have to learn less disruptive methods of disposal.

A horrible thought suddenly occurred to Combeferre. "Were there people or horses inside the stable when he burned it down?"

"No," said the woman.

That was a relief. A Slayer who disrespected property in times of great need was necessary; a Slayer who saw men and men's beasts as mere obstacles in her path would become a monster, if she were not swiftly corrected.

And now for the most important question.

"Madame," Combeferre began, "do you know where this young man went, after he left this inn?"

"The ruins of the Château right here," said the woman, referring to the Château de Beaufort. "He said that those fiends, they had friends, and he wanted to destroy them before they hurt other people."

Combeferre rose. "Thank you most kindly for your help, Madame." He placed some money, more than he owed her for food and lodgings, on the table, and went out the door.

When he arrived at the Château's ruins it was not yet dawn, but Combeferre had prepared for this, performing a simple magic that allowed him to see in the dark, and hid his scent and sound from vampire senses. Combeferre was no sorcerer, but he had taken care to learn some basic tricks that would permit him to protect himself.

What was weighing on him at the moment was the fact that he had never actually had to _use_ those tricks, because he had never had to personally confront a vampire before. Scholarly knowledge was not practical reality.

He stopped moving when he heard the vampires within the ruins. They were in a part that still had a roof, and from their conversation, Combeferre gleaned that they had just returned to this nest after several days of killings in a village a day's journey away by stagecoach.

"That was too close for my comfort," one of the vampires said. "It is nearly dawn. I can almost smell it."

"Oh, stop fussing," said another voice crossly. "We have arrived, after all, and now we are strengthened."

They bickered in such a fashion for nearly half an hour. Vampires could cooperate with one another, but the Watcher journals and tomes Combeferre had read indicated that they seldom actually _enjoyed_ it.

Pressing his ear against the wall, Combeferre wondered uneasily where the Slayer had gone. Surely they had not killed her before leaving? Surely she had come here to find them already gone to the other village, and perhaps...lost their trail? She was unaccustomed to pursuing prey, after all.

Or perhaps she did pursue them, and was killed at the other village for her trouble.

Combeferre blinked, and turned his gaze away from the wall and to the heavens. He suddenly noticed that some time had passed, that the dawn's light had touched the sky and was growing brighter by the second, infusing the entire world as far as the eye could see with a rich golden sheen.

All at once, he heard the vampires scream out, in a cacophony of what sounded a great deal like unbearable pain.

He heard a thump on the ground several lengths away from him. A large stone had fallen from above. Combeferre looked up to the outer roof of the room the vampires were in.

On top of the roof was a boy with long blond hair, wrenching another stone away. He—no, _she_, Combeferre corrected himself, for this must be the Slayer—flung the stone to the ground (a good distance from Combeferre, which he appreciated), and turned her attention back to prying up another stone from the roof.

The vampires' screaming grew louder. They could not flee, Combeferre realized, remembering what he had seen of the ruin on first inspection, for there was no adjoining room with a roof. Fleeing would only burn them faster. His admiration for the Slayer grew. She had planned this well. She must have found their empty nest and studied the ruins before concocting this scheme.

The Slayer, with a grunt of effort, pulled up another stone, which must have sent another large patch of sunlight into the vampires' nest. She then dropped from the roof into the room below.

Combeferre frowned, and ran around until he found an opening in the ruins and climbed in. He followed the sounds of screaming until he found the room, with three flame-ridden vampires—

—and a fourth, who had wisely fled to a shadowy corner when the Slayer had removed the first stone, and who was now exchanging blows with the Slayer.

And doing far too well at it for Combeferre's comfort. The girl was bold and ingenious, and of course had the strength of a Slayer, but she had no training whatsoever. She fought with ferocity and some native talent, but she was taking too many blows for Combeferre to feel assured of her victory.

Luckily, Combeferre's spell was still effective, and the fourth vampire's back was to him. He fished in his bag for a short sharp sword (and made a mental note to have a weapon _in hand_ the next time he ran into a room full of vampires) and, with a quick prayer that his knowledge would translate well to practice, sliced through the vampire's neck with one swift move.

The vampire exploded into dust, and Combeferre was now face to face with the Slayer.

"Thank you," she said, looking astonished.

The sun grew brighter, and therefore so did the flames upon the remaining vampires. The Slayer, with all the merciless composure of an avenging angel, watched them burn.

When they were dust, she turned back to Combeferre. "I am very grateful for your help," she said, "but who are you, and why are you here?"

Combeferre had a perfect introductory speech composed and memorized for this precise occasion, all of which he naturally forgot the second the Slayer's eyes fixed on his. He would have to improvise. "Mademoiselle—yes, I know you are a woman—my name is Sébastien Combeferre," he said, "and I am here because I felt you may be in need of information about your new powers."

The girl just looked at him silently. Combeferre took that as an invitation to continue. "Mademoiselle, I realize that this may be difficult for you to believe, but you have been given these abilities as a holy trust—we know not how, or from what heavenly powers precisely, but we know they are meant for the aid and salvation of all of mankind." His Uncle Henri would have put it differently, and talked about social order and the like. But Combeferre was speaking from his heart, and he did not wish to recite the usual reactionary Watcher formulae. "You are a vampire slayer, gifted with superhuman strength and skill so that you may destroy predators of humanity like the ones you just killed. And I am here to be your Watcher—that is, your guide and source of information, if you need one. If you'll have me, that is," Combeferre added awkwardly.

The girl suddenly smiled. It was wholly unexpected-she had been completely impassive, until that point, and her smile was radiant. Combeferre blinked. "I plainly have need of a guide, since I know nothing of these...creatures, or of any of this," she said. "And you have saved my life today. So I accept your offer with thanks, Monsieur Combeferre."

Combeferre smiled as well, feeling happier than he had felt in years. "And your name, Mademoiselle?"

"Of course—forgive my lack of manners, I am still in some...confusion," said the girl. She did not look confused in the slightest, and Combeferre wondered if she were even capable of looking so. She was not loud or improper in her speech or address, but she had a self-possession wholly unusual in anyone her age, which Combeferre judged to be sixteen or seventeen. "My name," she said, "is Gabrielle Enjolras."


	2. Chapter 2

They left the room where the vampires' nest had been, and stood just outside the ruined walls of the château.

The morning light was now in full blaze. Mademoiselle Enjolras, standing wreathed in its topaz fire, her expression exhausted but exalted, looked everything a Slayer should be: transcendent and implacable and blindingly pure.

Combeferre could not help feeling awestruck for a moment, but he pushed it aside. He had duties to perform. The first was seeing to the mental state of Mlle Enjolras. "Mademoiselle," he began, "you have suffered tremendously of late. You have my deepest sympathies for what the vampires did to your family."

Mlle Enjolras looked at him. "What exactly are vampires?"

"A vampire is the dead body of a human being," Combeferre said, "devoid of a soul. The human's soul is departed like any dead person's, but the body lives on, possessed by a bloodthirsty demon."

"How are they created?"

Combeferre's upbringing had placed enough emphasis on propriety that he felt uneasy discussing blood and carnage with a young lady—even if that young lady was a vampire slayer whom he had just witnessed engaging in some carnage herself. Stifling his discomfort, he said, "A vampire turns a human into a vampire by biting him, drinking his blood until nearly the point of death, and then forcing the human to drink the vampire's blood in the last seconds before the human's death. The new vampire will then rise from the human's grave, in the human's body, but the human's soul will be gone—the demon will have taken its place."

Mlle Enjolras's lip curled with disgust, but she said nothing.

"Before we leave this place," Combeferre said, after a moment, "we will need to discuss many practical matters. If you wish to...to think, or to pray, or to collect yourself in quiet, before wrestling with the demands of the world, and the demands of your powers...well, this would be a good time and place for it. I suggest you stay here as long as you wish. I will leave you alone, if you like, or...if you would like company, if you would like to talk about your family, or..."

Combeferre paused, feeling very clumsy, especially when confronted with the girl's continuing silence. This sort of thing was not his forte at all. But he soldiered on. "Anything at all. Either way, I will wait for you, either here or," he gestured vaguely, "a little further off, to give you some peace and quiet."

Mlle Enjolras said, very quietly, "There is no need for you to go away, Monsieur, but I would like to stay here for some time. I find myself in need of silence."

"Of course," said Combeferre.

Mlle Enjolras sat down on a crumbled bit of wall and looked out to the risen sun. Combeferre seated himself a short distance away from her, close enough to be called if she wanted anything, but far enough to give her space for her own thoughts.

They remained silent, looking off into the sunlit houses and farms in the distance. Combeferre did not notice the time pass. He felt suspended, tranquil, not waiting for anything, not expecting anything, simply being, drenched in the light.

When Mlle Enjolras stirred, nearly two hours had passed, but Combeferre only knew it because his watch told him so. She came over to stand in front of him, looking very solemn and very composed. He could not tell from her face whether or not she had wept during their long soundless interval. "I believe I am ready to discuss those practical matters you referred to, Monsieur Combeferre."

"The first question is to decide your living arrangements," Combeferre said. "Is there any family you would like to stay with?"

Mlle Enjolras narrowed her eyes at him, frowning. "Even if there were, would that be possible? Surely, if I am to continue with this sacred duty you spoke of so eloquently, for the _aid and salvation of all humanity_, I cannot live with family. They would create difficulties for the fulfillment of my role. Surely I must live apart."

"That would be the most convenient path in many ways, Mademoiselle. But if you wish to live with your surviving relatives and fulfill your role as the Slayer at the same time, we will find a way to accomplish that. I can speak to your family, explain things to them, help them understand, if you wish."

"My parents both have surviving cousins," Mlle Enjolras said, "but I will not live with them." She sounded very definite about that.

"Very well," Combeferre said. "Were you at school somewhere? A convent, perhaps?"

"I was, but I am finished there now."

"So you were simply living in Aiguilhe?"

"We were in mostly in Marseille," Mlle Enjolras said, "but came back to the family home in Aiguilhe from time to time." She shrugged. "I have nowhere to call home anymore, Monsieur, if I ever did. I left Aiguilhe with no fixed plan of where I would go after pursuing the creatures who butchered my family and neighbors. Where I would live seemed unimportant, and not very pressing, a question for a later day."

That "if I ever did" had a sad significance, but now was not the correct moment to probe further into it.

"Well," Combeferre said, smiling slightly, "that later day has come. Since you do not wish to live with your family, you have two choices. Well, three, I suppose. But two if you want to pursue the vocation of a vampire slayer with a Watcher who has studied the occult as your guide."

He paused to think for a moment. Explaining his precise relationship to the French Watchers was going to be tricky. "I will be frank with you, Mademoiselle. I have some training as a Watcher—that is, a guide to the Slayer—but I do not follow the rules of the traditional French Watchers, who are also looking for you. Their plans for you are very different from mine, and they do not know that I am here."

Mlle Enjolras's face was carefully blank as she asked, "What are their plans for me?"

Combeferre had thought long and hard about how he would explain this, and had not arrived at a satisfactory conclusion. On the one hand, he did not wish to bias her unduly. The path she took should be her own choice, based on her ideals, not his. On the other hand, he wished to be honest about the flaws of the traditional French Watchers, as he saw them.

"They place great emphasis on authority," Combeferre finally said. "They believe the Slayer is the...subordinate," he continued, substituting "subordinate" for "tool," which is what he had been about to say, "of the Watchers, that she is under their...paternal guidance, that in all matters they owe her...instruction and protection," Combeferre really felt he was acting as the lawyer for the defense of the French Watchers by crediting them with a genuine desire to protect the Slayer, "and she owes them obedience." Well, _that_ was nothing more nor less than accurate, at least. "They also believe that the Slayer's role is to protect a divinely ordained social order, an order that some traditional Watchers believe includes the divine right of kings. Her battle against vampires and other creatures of evil is fought to preserve this order, and must be conducted with its blessing."

Mlle Enjolras's lips tightened, but she only said, "And what would _your _plan for me be?"

This, Combeferre could speak of without guarding his tongue. He was permitted to be his own partisan, surely, even if fairness forbade him from doing a rhetorical hatchet-job on his philosophical opponents. "I believe that a Watcher should be a Slayer's ally, not her seigneur; that she owes him no obedience, but should avail herself of any knowledge or counsel he has; that he owes her protection in the way a teacher protects a student, but should not under any circumstances 'protect' her from her own reasoned judgment. I believe the Slayer's role is to protect human beings, rather than the authority of church or state, or the social order imposed by such institutions."

"Like anyone, I would rather have a friend than a master," said Mlle Enjolras. "If you are being truthful about your intentions, I would certainly rather have you than the traditional Watchers. But you mentioned a third choice, Monsieur."

"Well, yes," Combeferre said, "the third choice is deciding that you want nothing to do with either myself or the traditional Watchers. You might slay vampires on your own, without my assistance or any other Watcher's. Or you might decide that you don't want to fulfill the Slayer's role at all. But if you choose to go off on your own, whether you slay vampires or not, you should know that the traditional Watchers will make every effort to force you into their service should they ever find you. So your best course would be to remain hidden."

"It seems to me that, if I chose you as my Watcher, we would still have to remain hidden," Mlle Enjolras said, her mouth twisting into a faint smile.

"Yes," said Combeferre. "The French Watchers would not approve of my methods. If they found you with me, they would insist upon taking you away and making one of their own your Watcher."

"So you are...how shall I put this...a rogue?"

"An unflattering word to use, but yes."

Mlle Enjolras turned away from him to look into the distance. The silence made Combeferre tense, but he willed himself not to interrupt it.

Finally, Mlle Enjolras faced Combeferre and made a decisive gesture with her hand. "I would have you as my Watcher, Monsieur, as I said earlier. You helped me, and I believe you are telling the truth now."

Combeferre smiled. "I am very happy to hear you say that, Mademoiselle, very happy indeed."

"Where would we go, then? To slay vampires, and protect humanity?" Mlle Enjolras sounded very much in earnest about this new calling of hers. Combeferre could not help smiling again.

"To Paris," he said, "if you have no objection. That is where I live—I am a medical student there."

"I have no objection to going to Paris," Mlle Enjolras said. She added, with a trace of curiosity, "I have never been there. But I do have one condition."

"And what is that, Mademoiselle?"

"We must stop in Monistrol-sur-Loire on the way," she said. "I overheard the vampires I just…killed…"

"Slew, Mademoiselle, not killed," Combeferre said gently. "Killing is for humans, or for beasts of nature. You should keep those concepts separate in your mind."

"And does a vampire slayer never kill humans?"

"Any human, including a vampire slayer, may have to kill other humans in dire circumstances. But the Slayer's particular mission is to kill vampires and other soulless creatures—not humans. Now, tell me: why must we stop in Monistrol-sur-Loire?"

"There are vampires there," Mlle Enjolras said. "And from what I heard, the vampires in that town are not simply a pack of wolves passing through. Somehow, they are in charge. They have the authorities on their side."

This did not surprise Combeferre. "Vampires often suborn the authorities," he said. "In some cases, they _are_ the authorities."

Mlle Enjolras looked at him in frank astonishment. Combeferre smiled bitterly. "Yes, Mademoiselle. Usually a new vampire will stay on the fringes of human society. Vampires are usually inconspicuous and nomadic, picking off their prey and then moving on. But if a new vampire was someone of high social position as a human, someone with power…well, why would they stay on the fringes? They would have no desire to give up their lofty status to live like vagabonds. No, they can easily adapt to human society, pretending they are still human. They would need to avoid direct sunlight, of course, but that is manageable."

"Don't they need to drink blood to survive? The creatures I just killed—slew—I overheard them saying they would wither without blood."

"Yes, and an aristocrat or a haut-bourgeois can easily get the blood of some unfortunate wretch—some forgotten gamin in the cities, or some poor peasant in the country, or a convict, perhaps—without notice or comment."

Mlle Enjolras's nostrils flared, and her hands clenched into fists.

"That was one of my major disagreements with the traditional Watchers," Combeferre said. "They believed that, in those cases, it was sometimes better to…maintain the social order, rather than disrupt it by slaying the vampires in authority."

"Any social order that relies on drinking innocent blood _must_ be disrupted." Mlle Enjolras looked at Combeferre defiantly, as if expecting him to scold her, though he could not think why—he had just told her he shared that view. When he said nothing, she went on, "So we must stop at Monistrol-sur-Loire."

"Very well," Combeferre said. He felt himself grinning broadly, and feared he looked rather foolish, but he could not help it. It was an unexpected blessing, that the Slayer would already share his most basic sentiments so strongly and so decidedly. "But now, we still have more practical matters to discuss."

He hesitated. What he was about to say next would inevitably create some awkwardness. "Please forgive me, but the situation we are in...it requires casting some formalities to the side. I will have to make some suggestions that do not fall within the bounds of propriety."

Mlle Enjolras raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.

"But I swear to you," Combeferre continued, "upon my honor, that I will take no liberties of any kind with you. And if you do not like any suggestion I make, for whatever reason, you must tell me, and we will abandon it immediately."

Mlle Enjolras nodded. "I believe you are trustworthy," she said very gravely.

Combeferre felt his face grow hot; he felt sure he was turning an unflattering shade of red. Something about Mlle Enjolras's seriousness made her belief in him supremely touching. It made Combeferre all the more determined to be worthy of such faith.

"Do you wish to remain disguised as a man?" Combeferre asked. "Or would you prefer to live openly as a woman?"

"I would have more freedom to fulfill my duties as a vampire slayer if I pretended to be a man," said Mlle Enjolras, after several moments' silent consideration. "I will continue to do so."

And there was that look of challenge on her face again, as if she expected a lecture or some other chastisement. It was a slightly pugilistic look, which faded into a sort of puzzled satisfaction when Combeferre simply said, "Very well. But…"

"But?"

"It may be difficult for you to claim any property and money your family may have left you, if you disguise yourself as a man," Combeferre said. "You said your parents had surviving cousins. If they currently believe that you were slaughtered at Aiguilhe, then one of those cousins is likely the heir to your family's property. To reclaim it, you would have to declare yourself among the living, under your true identity. I suppose if you had a brother close to your age, you could pretend to be him, but you'd have to avoid meeting anyone who could recognize you, and…"

"I have no brother," Mlle Enjolras said, "and everyone does think I was killed at Aiguilhe. My body was not found, of course, but neither were the bodies of many of the dead. The vampires ripped many to shreds, carried some parts of their corpses with them, and burned many as well."

She turned away from Combeferre, looking out at the horizon. "I am only seventeen, still in my minority." Only three years younger than Combeferre, then. He suddenly felt keenly aware of his own lack of experience, and the pitfalls it would bring—but what was the alternative? He would _not_ turn her over to some ultraroyalist graybeard Watcher who would try to make her his pawn. This girl was not meant to be anyone's pawn. Nobody was.

"If I were discovered alive, I would be under the guardianship of my father's cousin." Mlle Enjolras's tone made it absolutely clear that she did not like this prospect. "So I don't intend to claim my family property. Let my father's cousins take it. I can live off the silver and jewelry I took from my home in that bag over there," she pointed at a large sack against the château's wall, "though I will need to be frugal."

"Yes," Combeferre said. "We will both need to be frugal—I only have my allowance from my family—which brings me to a more delicate point."

This was very, very, _very_ awkward to say. Combeferre was not much given to expletives, but he found himself thinking all kinds of profanities at the moment.

He told himself not to be a coward, and plowed on. "Lodgings while traveling, and in Paris, will obviously cost money. If you are to be disguised as a man, it may be simpler to share accommodations, as improper as that might be, as that would negate many practical difficulties, but only if you are not distressed by this..." There, he had managed to get the words out, though his cheeks were burning. "I must repeat, Mademoiselle, that I will take no liberties with your honor if you choose this alternative."

She was blushing and looking elsewhere, and could he blame her? But the subject had to be raised, and could not be deferred. At some point they would have to leave these ruins and, if they left together, they would need a plan of how and where they would travel.

"Never mind," Combeferre said, though he was truly concerned about funds. If he asked for more money from home, there was just a chance Uncle Henri might get wind of it. Combeferre was under no suspicion from the French Watchers at the moment, and he wanted very much to keep it that way. He could not become reckless through complacency. But—Mlle Enjolras's honor and dignity came first. "I will never force you into a situation painful to your sensibilities."

Mlle Enjolras simply stared off into the distance. Combeferre took a moment to marvel at the strangeness of their situation. "We needn't decide this right away," he said, "we've only just met, and you've had so many shocks. To discuss such sensitive matters immediately after..."

Her grim bark of laughter cut him off abruptly. "Monsieur, I saw my family and neighbors torn to pieces. I still see their mangled corpses every time I close my eyes. I have donned men's clothes and killed the creatures responsible for these outrages, creatures I didn't even know existed before. Everything I've ever known has been washed away in a torrent of blood. I feel as though...as though I have traversed a revolutionary apocalypse of some sort." She set her jaw, looking very pale.

_Revolutionary apocalypse._ It was an unusual turn of phrase, especially for a sheltered girl of seventeen. Combeferre thought it accurate, though. Everything that was once rooted and seemingly eternal was now overthrown-overthrown in death and agony, yes, but even so there was the potential of creating something better than what would have been. What sort of woman would Mlle Enjolras have made, if she had not been called as a Slayer? If she had been forced into the ordinary life of a bourgeoise? And what sort of a Slayer would she be now?

"The impropriety of our conversation is nothing in comparison to everything else," Mlle Enjolras continued. "And it's best if we settle these matters quickly." Her fists clenched and unclenched; she shifted from foot to foot, looking desperate to act in some way. "Sharing lodgings is the most prudent course of action, and so we should do that."

"Very well, then," Combeferre said, feeling a new respect for the girl's unflinching willingness to grapple with harsh realities. "So you are set on remaining disguised as a man, leaving your family money unclaimed, and allowing your remaining relations to think you dead?"

"Yes," Mlle Enjolras said, flinging her head back. Her hair fanned out behind her. And that was another issue.

"Did you try to cut your hair?" Combeferre asked, suddenly, drawing the subject from the grand to the trivial.

Mlle Enjolras flushed, reaching behind her to remove the ribbon tying her hair back. She pulled the strands round in front of her. Her locks were shorter than most women's hair, but longer than was fashionable for men. The ends were jagged, uneven. She'd obviously cut her hair herself, probably without the aid of a mirror. "Yes. Not well, as you can see. I should probably fix it, though I don't really know how."

Going to a barber might raise questions. Maybe Combeferre could concoct a story for the barber about how his silly younger brother had tried to grow out his hair as a prank, but it would be better for Combeferre to simply cut the hair himself. What was another awkward moment, in a day that had already proved to be chock-full of them? And it wasn't even noon yet.

"If you will allow me?" Combeferre asked, hesitantly. When Mlle Enjolras nodded, he reached into his bag for a pair of scissors.

She turned around, shaking her hair out. Combeferre's fingers threaded gently through the silky mane, straightening it out, before he cut in as close to a straight line as he could manage, so that the hair below her neck fell away to deck the ground below them with thick shining curls. When Combeferre was done, she looked like a boy, albeit an oddly ethereal one.

"And now, Mademoiselle," said Combeferre, "if you are ready, let us be off to Monistrol-sur-Loire."


End file.
